


Overworked Leather

by liketolaugh



Series: Means to an End [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Connor Works Alone, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor is also doing his best, Depressed Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Markus is doing his best, Mental Health Issues, Moral Dilemmas, Self-Esteem Issues, Violent Markus (Detroit: Become Human), everyone is trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: It’s three weeks after Markus recruited Connor to Jericho. Neither of them have second thoughts about this. (Both of them are uncertain of exactly how true that is.)
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Series: Means to an End [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730671
Comments: 18
Kudos: 211





	Overworked Leather

Of the two Jericho bases, Markus had only given Connor the key to one.

That had been the main effect of Markus and Connor’s first disastrous encounter: Jericho had been cleaved in two, and it had been one of the best decisions Markus had made thus far. It allowed him to neatly separate the non-combatants, the children and the damaged and the frightened, from the androids who were willing and able to fight.

South Jericho, hidden even more meticulously than the first, was integrated into the abandoned Pirate’s Cove amusement park, where a number of Jerry androids made nighttime activity a regular and expected thing already; acting as a halfway point between East Jericho and Canada, it held the vulnerable and noncombatant androids.

East Jericho, a captured Cyberlife warehouse and the only base humans knew about these days, housed those willing and able to fight, gather supplies, form contacts and so on. It also drew fire from its more vulnerable sister base, and Markus intended to keep it that way.

Josh kept loyal watch over South Jericho, meticulously careful and attentive to the needs of all the androids that stayed there. North stayed in East, viciously protective and most comfortable when in control and well-informed; Markus spent most of his time in East and Simon in South, but both of them moved back and forth as necessary.

None of them were ever in the same place all at once. They couldn’t risk the revolution being wiped out in one fell swoop.

It had been three weeks since Connor’s arrival, and Markus was starting to consider letting him have the other key. He’d halved casualties in the first FBI raid he’d been present for, sniping from the roof and sending agents scurrying back to cover, and he hadn’t once made an aggressive move toward any of the other androids, and he hadn’t even attempted to leave, for alleged business purposes or otherwise.

And that day, when his replacement appeared, he’d taken off into the rain before the other could even break the fence line. He’d returned less than an hour later, subtly hunched and avoiding eye contact even more fervently than usual, blue blood spattered on his clothes.

Markus hadn’t had time to check on him, making his rounds among the shaken and the injured, setting up a hasty watch, and contact Josh about the incident before he finally made it back to the war room (a repurposed meeting room, already fit with hologram systems and blank surfaces and a large table to sit around) to talk to the others.

Connor was asleep at the table, head pillowed on his left arm and wet hair plastered to his forehead; he hadn’t even washed the blood off himself. Despite everything, despite the tension dragging at his chest and the fear at the base of his skull and the ache of his overstressed knees, Markus had to suppress a flicker of a smile.

Simon was already present as well, prim and proper with his eyes carefully averted from Connor and his gun resting on the table in front of him. The (human) blood Markus knew had been splashed across his arm and torso had been carefully washed away, his shirt still darker where it had been soaked and dark spots still making themselves known and his skin glistening with lingering damp. He nodded at Markus as he came in, looking skittish and faintly frustrated. Markus understood; two attacks in a month was quite bad for them, and it was probably due to Connor’s presence.

“They’ll have to give up on him soon,” Markus said in an undertone, deferring to Connor’s sleeping state; he wasn’t sure what it was, but Connor, when not working, spent an unusual amount of time in stasis. “All other circumstances still apply, after all; the _humans_ will start to riot if they continue at this rate.”

Simon inclined his head wearily. “But can we hold out that long?” he pointed out, and then shook his head sharply. “Never mind. Not the point. Who was that? You said Connor believed his series would be decommissioned if he deviated.”

“It was,” Markus said without hesitation, mentally bringing up the flash of a memory: the android almost exactly like Connor, eerie only for the sharper angles of his face and the cold blue of his eyes. “I caught a glimpse of his jacket before he took off after Connor. RK900, not eight.”

Simon’s lips pressed together, and Markus nodded, knowing what he was thinking: that wasn’t a good thought, an upgrade from Connor.

He sat down by Simon with a heavy sigh, wincing at the shift of his knees and the spike of a headache he hadn’t even properly noticed yet. It seems humans had a loose definition of compatible parts, though that shouldn’t be a surprise – and it was better than no parts at all. Simon shot him a lingering glance, stiff with worry, but didn’t say anything.

“Thanks for coming to East,” Markus added, still soft and with a pointed glance at Connor. “What’s your opinion on Connor so far?” He trusted Simon’s ability to judge character even more than his own; while Markus was fast warming up to the man, who seemed so far to be just loyal and determined and a little bit lost, he was waiting for Simon’s call before he made any lasting decisions.

Well. Any _more_ lasting decisions.

Simon exhaled, long and tired. “I don’t really know, Markus. I don’t think he does, either. If I’m honest, though, I don’t think he has any business in East.”

Markus stiffened slightly, a sudden bolt of fear jolting up his spine, so soon after this last fight that he nearly went for his gun. “You think I should send him out of Jericho?”

“I think he should be in _South,”_ Simon corrected. “Maybe not forever, but at least for a while. From what you said, he took the first orders he was given after he deviated, and hasn’t done much except follow them since. He isn’t talking to anyone, won’t even look at anyone except you- Markus, he hasn’t _picked clothes._ He’s still in the remains of his Cyberlife uniform.” He shrugged, looking away. “I know he’s been invaluable as a part of the guard, and I think he’ll be _trustworthy_ unless something changes, but I don’t think he should be here.”

Markus kept his eyes on the side of Simon’s head for a minute, feeling more like he’d been kicked in the chest than he had when he’d _actually_ been kicked in the chest earlier. But finally, he swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Simon. I’ll… keep that under consideration.” A moment of hesitation, and he tacked on, “I promise.”

Simon made a soft, dissatisfied sound, but anything more he might have said was cut off when the door banged open, making Connor flinch awake and scoot backwards, eyes darting immediately to the door and hand disappearing under the table.

North ignored him, shoving the door shut behind her and mounting the table in an easy motion. She had not washed the blood off, most of it on her hands and under her nails but some on her face and chest, and her hair was thin and clumpy from the rain. Her expression was somewhere between an unfriendly smirk and an irate snarl.

She was looking at Connor. “I thought you said you’d be decommissioned,” she said without a moment’s pause for breath or interruption, sharp with challenge.

“I-I _was,”_ he snapped defensively, gaze dropped immediately from her face to the table. His fingers pulled at the fraying cuff of his sleeve, now colored with droplets of thirium and damp with rainwater. He was favoring his right arm, Markus noticed. “That wasn’t, he wasn’t, he was-”

“An RK900, not an RK800,” Markus interrupted, sparing the frustrated android. Connor deflated, relieved, and nodded remorsefully. “You didn’t mention him before.”

Connor’s gaze flickered briefly to each of them without ever meeting anyone’s eyes, still wary and shadowed even after three weeks. He was coiled tightly, subtly defensive, and it made Markus’ heart clench with less anxiety and more sadness every time he saw it.

“He was still under, under development,” Connor said, visibly uncomfortable. There was an odd texture about his throat that made Markus frown. “When I was in circulation. But I, I knew he was almost finished. Nines, he’s-”

“Nines?” Simon interrupted, throwing Connor’s train of thought off and making him go still for a moment, confused. Markus understood, though; it wasn’t like Connor to assign nicknames, and the thought that he’d been close with his successor was in some manner unsettling.

“…RK900,” Connor said after a moment, eyes still on the table. “My, ah, the development team called him that. Around me. But I think his name is, is Conan.”

He faltered- after a moment, Markus realized he wasn’t sure how to continue from there and rescued him again. “Nines’ development?”

Connor’s gaze lifted to his, wide brown eyes pinched at the corners, but relaxed a little and nodded. “Nines is more m-military-focused. Harder hitting and s-sturdier, but not as, as ver-versatile.” His hand went to cover his mouth, and he took a deep breath, eyes falling back to his arm. When he let go and spoke again, his voice came out steadier and more deliberate. “I don’t… think he could break the law. The, the government may be keeping a closer eye o-on Cyberlife’s compliance with regulation. And he was inexperienced. Bad at improvisation and using his environment.”

Connor exhaled harshly when he was done, looking like he’d burnt out his limited allotment of words. Markus opened his mouth to thank him, but North – who had been dead still for the entire explanation – interrupted him.

“Did you kill him?” she asked bluntly, arms crossed and head cocked, but the snarl of her mouth smoothed into a thin line. Markus’ heart tugged with melancholy, but he ignored it with the ease of lengthening practice.

“North,” Simon said warningly, but he was ignored.

Connor shook his head, and Markus’ stomach swooped in pitying frustration.

Well, of course he hadn’t. No one understood Conan’s situation better than Connor. And he was- well, in many ways, he was new. Accustomed as he was to spilling blood, and as easily as he’d turned that grim resolution on Jericho’s enemies – a good dozen FBI agents could attest to that – it was perhaps too much to expect for him to make the hard call here too.

 _And he’s had very little say in any of it,_ Markus reminded himself sternly – not like Markus, who had made the first call to violence only a month after starting to lead Jericho, or Josh, who had withdrawn to guard only the most vulnerable of them but never even considered leaving altogether.

North was not so understanding.

“Why the hell not?” she demanded, bringing her feet up to swing around and bare her teeth at Connor, the blood on her hands smearing on the table. “Your heart go soft when your programming dropped, hunter?”

Connor’s shoulders tensed, but he still didn’t rise to the bait, refusing to even meet North’s eyes. Perfectly even, he said, “I’ve killed everyone you’ve asked me to.”

He’d done more than that, Markus knew; aside from halving casualties during the first raid and occupying Conan’s attention during the second, he’d updated the patrol patterns to something more efficient, and he had some ideas for rearranging the workrooms so the less combat-ready were safer too. He was still too new to risk real resources on his ideas, aiming to capture warehouses and eventually police stations and infrastructure, but they were getting there.

The other residents had noticed, too, and they were slowly starting to warm up to Connor – especially the ones who spent the most time on guard rotation. Taking Connor in had been the right choice.

“Everyone has an adjustment period, North,” Markus interrupted, deliberately calm enough to force North to lower her hackles. “Connor is still new to deviancy.” Markus turned his attention off quietly fuming North, knowing she was angrier about the raid than anything else, and to Connor, who was already looking back at him with the tension of a scolded dog. “But she’s right, Connor. There are some kinds of mercy we can’t afford. You should know that better than anyone.”

Connor took it harder than Markus had meant, locking down visibly and staring at his fingers. His shoulders hunched up around his neck, and he nodded mutely, making no further protest. For a split second, Markus faltered, wanting to reassure him. The last statement had been a low blow; he didn’t need Simon’s pointed stare to tell him that.

Instead, he shook himself and moved on.

“The next time Conan goes for Jericho, do your best to put him down,” Markus said firmly. “We’ve been doing well, but that could change at the drop of a hat. We need at least another warehouse before we start aiming for infrastructure.” North smirked, but Simon just looked solemn. “Connor, you stand by your plan?” Connor nodded without looking up. “Then North, make a headcount of who can be repaired with what we have now. Simon, let Josh know, please.” Simon was better than even Markus at getting Josh to agree to plans of war.

North gave him a thumbs up, and Simon a weary, wry smile and a pointed glance at the door. Markus didn’t quite understand that second until he waved them off and realized that Connor was already gone.

* * *

Most of the androids Connor passed in the halls and the common rooms turned to look at him as he went by. Some of them snarled or sneered. More shrank away. Connor avoided looking at all of them, tuning in to the patter of rain instead.

It was still raining when Connor retreated outside, a rapid drum on the concrete that collected in dips and corners, icy cold and dimming the daylight hours. The fence stood out in the distance, damaged and bent, and Connor could taste petrichor on the air.

The still-evaporating thirium on his arms made his skin crawl, like a thousand layers of blue and red tacky on his hands, but he was used to ignoring it already. The same went for imaginary tired ache of his body, and the flicker of error messages around his vision, the protesting spark and grind of his shoulder and the crackle of his damaged throat plate. The moisture stung his injuries, but it was far more peaceful than the inside of the base, with too much noise and movement and _people._

He sat down hard, knees up to his chest, and leaned back against the outside wall, closing his eyes to listen to the wind and the rain, letting the cool water dampen his half-dried clothing.

He thought of Nines. Cyberlife was unlikely to withhold repairs for such severe damage, but it was difficult to be sure with them – sometimes it depended on performance, sometimes on their mood, sometimes on the budget. Partial repair was a possibility as well.

It had been foolish of Connor to focus on disabling Nines rather than simply destroying him, which would have been faster, more effective, and allowed him to return in time to help fend off the FBI as well. Markus had never been so complacent with Connor. But…

But, nothing. Next time, Connor would destroy Nines. It couldn’t afford to do anything else.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, mind slipping off to doze in the gentle rain. It was peaceful outside, steady white noise and cool air and the muffled sound of androids still moving around in the warehouse. He would need to get up to watch the perimeter soon, but not yet. He could take a moment.

Connor hadn’t expected it to be so hard to stay awake. But, he supposed, that was what came of spending most of his time in stasis. Cyberlife hadn’t exactly afforded him the chance to occupy himself when he wasn’t hunting, and anyone who spoke around him spoke _around_ him; he’d stopped trying to contribute early on, after one too many ‘mute’ commands as Connor-8.

Unlearning that was… hard, and not necessarily worthwhile when it mattered so little.

He stirred awake when someone started to approach, and went still again when they sat heavily beside him. When he looked up, though, it was to Markus, considering him with a thoughtful and unafraid expression. He looked at home here, as he did anywhere, his coat affording him a shield from the cold and the damp. Connor went unwillingly tense, mind flickering to his earlier mistake and what he _knew_ he should be doing now, but he didn’t speak.

Connor wondered how Markus looked so unruffled.

Finally, Markus smiled at him, small and gentle, and Connor almost swayed forward, inexplicably drawn.

“You can stay inside, you know,” he said, quiet but clear despite the interference of the rain. “I hear it’s easier to sleep when you’re dry.”

Connor didn’t answer. It didn’t make any difference to him, and he bothered fewer people this way. He hadn’t even intended to sleep; it had just fallen over him, like it always did when he was still for too long. He kept his eyes on Markus, expectant, and Markus’ smile faded.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked eventually, shifting to face Connor better and his coat scraping the asphalt. “I can’t imagine you got out of that encounter unscathed, especially if you weren’t aiming to kill.”

Connor blinked, confused, and took a moment to find his words. No reprimand for not getting back to work? He had promised, and he clearly wasn’t _badly_ injured-

“I, I took some damage to m-my neck and shoulder,” he said at last, too tired to try and stop his stutter. “It doesn’t re-require repair.”

Markus’ face pinched in clear disappointment, but all he said was, “May I take a look?”

Connor nodded absently, and was still somehow caught by surprise when Markus reached for his shoulder and pressed on it tenderly, his fingers warm and steady as they explored the damage site. Connor exhaled sharply, going dead still, and Markus paused.

“Alright?” he asked quietly, and Connor nodded.

Markus hummed, and was somehow even gentler as his fingers prodded at the joint of Connor’s shoulder, going up over his collarbone and then down under his arm as well, even and attentive. All of Connor’s focus narrowed to that motion, tight and overwhelmed, but Markus didn’t seem to notice. It barely hurt at all, Markus erring to the side of caution as he assessed the cracked plating and the heat of damaged and self-healing wires. After a minute, Connor realized he was leaning into him, and knew Markus had noticed too when he paused.

Then Markus’ hands left his shoulder to press even more carefully at his throat, and Connor still didn’t move, feeling that as soon as he did, the gentle touch would leave.

Perhaps Markus sensed something of that, because he didn’t pull away even as he finished, his hands slipping down to Connor’s forearm instead. Connor opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them.

“You should have said something,” Markus chided.

“…Sorry,” Connor murmured, realizing his mistake – unlike Cyberlife, Markus did not monitor his personal feed. Connor would have to report his damage before Markus could make a judgement.

Markus sighed, and Connor felt worse.

“Why don’t we go see Lucy?” he said unexpectedly, bringing Connor’s eyes back to him. He was smiling again, slightly strained. “You may be able to repair this on your own, but it could go a little faster. Some thirium can’t hurt either.”

Markus thought Connor deserved medical attention.

“…But I was, was supposed to kill Nin-Nines,” he said slowly. Markus had been very clear about that. Connor’s performance had been sub-par.

Markus smiled oddly, with teeth. “We try not to withhold care based on performance,” he said, as if he’d read Connor’s mind.

“Oh.”

Connor liked Jericho better than Cyberlife. He’d known that already, but the differences got clearer every day.

Markus was still rubbing Connor’s arm, a slow back-and-forth Connor didn’t want to spook away.

“Did, did ev-ev-everyone get l-looked over?” There had been a few who went down before Connor spotted Nines – a former security model, a PM700, a particularly fierce VS waitstaff unit…

Another sigh, this time a sound Connor felt in his bones.

“Everyone recoverable,” Markus said tiredly.

Connor wondered who wasn’t. Then he wondered how many casualties it would take for Markus to decide Connor wasn’t worth the effort.

There would be funerals tonight, and Connor knew he was not invited.

“Supplies?” he asked.

A flicker of a smile. “Still in good stock from our last run. You’re running out of excuses, Connor.” It faded quickly. “Do you know why they sent Conan? Why didn’t they just send another of…”

He trailed off, troubled.

“I never am-amounted to anything,” Connor said, surprised that this was a question. “They were on, on the, on the verge of de-decommissioning me a-anyway. I, I knew d-deviating would force, force, force their hand.” He resisted the urge to cover his mouth again, exhausted by himself.

Nines had been finished for months, with better performance statistics than Connor had ever had and less than a dozen drafts. All they’d needed was an excuse.

Connor’s clothing was soaked. His shoulder spasmed.

“That’s not true,” Markus said, sharp enough to make Connor flinch. His eyes were intense, his grip on Connor solid enough to wake him up and demand his attention. “No one worth nothing would survive a year and a half of that and come out compassionate. No one useless could cut casualties within a week of arriving or try so hard to step up and help. Cyberlife was _wrong.”_

He sounded like he meant it. Connor swallowed, static and painful, unbreakably drawn to the man in front of him and shaken to his core in some way he couldn’t identify.

It didn’t make sense.

“I came o-out more of a, a machine than wh-when I was f-first built,” he said, because it was true. He remembered: in the beginning he had been curious and eager, and talkative, and ambitious, and now he was just bloody and compliant. “And you- you were d-doing fine without me.”

He knew he was a help to Markus’ cause – that was why Markus had wanted him, after all – but it was true. Markus had been slowly gaining traction over the last year and a half, and they didn’t need Connor. Not really.

“But thank you,” he added belatedly, even quieter. “You… really don’t n-need to be so kind to me, Markus.”

Connor wouldn’t stop him, though. Any kindness Markus was willing to offer, he wanted.

And in exchange, he would give Markus _anything._ Absolutely anything.

Markus studied him for a few moments longer, silent and solemn, and then stood, offering Connor a hand up.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he said quietly. “And then Lucy can take a look at you.”

Connor stared up at him, silhouetted by the dim light and the rain, calm and unmovable, and then nodded, reached up, and took his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to expand this into a bigger verse, because what I need right now is more WIPs. But I was just having too much fun! This Connor and Markus are really interesting to work with, and their relationship touches on some issues and complexities that I haven't worked with before.
> 
> This is a sad verse, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway!


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